“I am sure many of you can see where these plans are leading, this threefold concern over our defense, our food and a roof over our heads,” Roe started to sum up. “We strive for self-sufficiency, total planet autonomy.” Before the crowd could react she went on. “Before the starships reached for space, all planets were self-sufficient. We can be again. Anything this planet cannot provide us with, we can and shall do without. We do this ...” She had to raise her voice; many individuals were clearly worried by her inference: “We do this to prepare ourselves for the long siege, to prevent a total collapse of our economy and to give us an excellent bargaining position for reentering the Axis Republican Council. The Axis ignored our mutual treaty obligations and, as well as we can determine, seeks to place the blame on Nuala. Returning to the status quo will be as painful as the next twoyear promises to be.”
As the silence dissolved into an undercurrent of words, the new head of the synod, Justinian, stood up.
Braan held up his hands asking for silence. “Our next order of business is more disturbing. I have shown Justinian all of the taped information Ronüviel and I brought back from Tolis, aided by supporting tracts from Amura’s transaction computer. He will now relate his conclusions, and the voice of his sub-committee.”
Justinian stepped forward. Tay studied the elderly man with interest. It was he who had been concerned about the number of the guaard, the Atare family’s private bodyguard service, as Tay understood it. Justinian and his wife, Url, easily in their eighties, were among the most influential of the synod elders. They were also the most neutral, despite their high placement in the Dielaan house.
The Caprican woman appreciated Braan’s shrewdness. Although the majority of the synod supported him without hesitation, there were still enemies. Enemies of the house of Atare; personal enemies of Braan’s. Anything Braan said to the assembly might be twisted by them. But Justinian was truly independent, as likely to support the throne as to attack it, and was half of the only unbiased pair present. He was the perfect choice to explain about Tolis—and Corymb.
Though his voice was soft, Justinian showed he was still a masterful speaker and debater. He spoke in detail concerning what the computer had shown and had aides hold up charts explaining how close they had come to absorption by their off-world investors. He indirectly praised Braan’s nationalization of the mines and industries and the sending of an interstellar decree to that effect. The old Nualan skillfully reiterated the information about the assassin and then added the scene with the messenger, indicating Corymb was quite alive and biding his time over his return. Tay let the recorder run; this was too important to risk missing a key concept by abridging as she copied.
Finally Justinian turned and gestured to Arrez, who stood and told the startling news of the presence of Cied in Amura, and of what appeared to be Baakche, the Dragoche himself, in conference with Corymb.
Silence hung in the cavern for a long time after Arrez finished. Even those Corymb supporters who had managed to explain away everything else had trouble with the last charge. The tribes had no use for the cities—this had been the case from before recorded interaction.
The tribes knew of Braan—but not Braan Atare. The difference was important. The Ciedärlien did not acknowledge the rule of Amura, and the point had not been pressed in a millennium. What did they want? Or what did Corymb promise them? And most importantly, how did he intend to deliver?
Braan finally stood up. “I did not request this presentation to set us at each other’s throats or to plant doubts in our minds about each other’s loyalty. The fact is, there is a hologram awaiting your perusal that was Baskh Atare’s last recording. In it he expresses his belief that Corymb was attempting to supplant himself and Tal, setting Deveah on the throne; and that Corymb was aiding off-worlders in what could become a blockade of Nualan economic interests. We cannot make accusations on the basis of this information, but Justinian considered our current situation serious enough to bring this to the Synod.”
“Atare?” Old Justinian had risen once again.
“Speak.”
“The crisis is this: Corymb may return to us a victim of circumstantial evidence; we may even find a blackmailer and slanderer in our ranks. We may also be readmitting a scorpion to our den. Things will be very hard and tense in the next sixhundred fortyeightday. Corymb’s experience could be invaluable. He could also seek an opening and wreak havoc among us, destroying monarchy, temple, synod and masses. A word from him could raise sini and 80-20 discord to fever pitches. My request is this; to those who have supported him in the past, think before backing his words. And those who have never listened, listen; and be not quick to condemn.” He looked at Braan expectantly.
“That is all we have prepared,” Braan said quietly. “Questions? Comments?” As both Arrez and Justinian sat down, several questions were asked, and in them Tay sensed the deep danger they were approaching. The inquiries were specific, current—no one wanted to think too far ahead. And no one wanted to talk about Corymb or off-worlders. Braan dealt with their doubts easily, belaying his exhaustion, and soon the meeting was brought to a dignified end.
Braan turned to Teloa. “May I take the recorder tonight? I would like to go over the complete lecture with no editing or editorializing. It may be that what we think of as useless may in fact be the gold we seek.” Tay was not sure she understood any of the cryptic remarks, but the request was clear. And she knew if her record was poor, he’d replace her, so the comment was not aimed specifically at her work. She mutely handed him the recorder.
Braan took it, critically eyeing the amount of tape dots used. “We are long-winded, are we not? A lot of work for you.” He glanced up, his expression intense. He moved swiftly, but his touch was sure and gentle, checking the lump above her ear. “How is your head? Are you dizzy, nauseous?” She winced and slowly shook her head. His acceptance of her attitude was uncertain. “If you are sure. Sleep in tomorrow if you have a headache; do not worry about rising duties.” Tay started to protest, fearful of others thinking that she’d received preferential treatment. Braan was gone, however, moving into the recesses of the cavern, indicating the matter was closed.
“Atare!” He stopped and faced her again across a crevice. “Get some rest. If there was no time for a proper coronation, there is no time for a state funeral.” He studied her impassively and then disappeared.
“Do not lose any sleep over it. When he drops, I shall just tuck him into bed for a few days.” It was Ronüviel.
“And if he keeps staggering on?”
“I will slip him an air hypo when he least expects it,” Roe went on reassuringly, forcing a smile.
“I wish I could read people like you all do. I feel ... handicapped.” Tay scarcely realized that she was saying it aloud.
“Relax into it sometime. You might be surprised at how easily you can do it. After all, Lyte and Moran are trained sensitives. And you feel things, Tay—without trying. Good night.” Tay nodded at Ronüviel as the woman made her way toward the life shelter. Teloa looked out the portal, saw night deepening, and suddenly felt very tired.
Chapter Twelve
LIFE SHELTER
FIFTEENDAY, COMPLINE
Lyte heard footsteps on the ledge. It’s taken them longer to find me this time, he thought. I’m getting better at hiding. As he had slowly healed, the restlessness took hold of him. He wandered, often sleeping on the life shelter walkway under the pulsing stars. This night he was hiding motionless in a deep, wide niche, accessible only by a ledge leading off the life shelter walkway. Shinar nearly swept by him in her haste to avoid the rising wind.
He was found. She half dragged a heavy quilt around the corner and dumped it next to him. Lyte, arrayed comfortably on his back and studying the stars, pretended to ignore her. Finally: “Can’t a man find a little peace around here?”
“Not this way,” she replied quickly. “I was sent to be sure your body had not fallen off a cliff and to wrap what was left of i
t in this.” She plopped down beside him. “Are you sleeping here?”
“Have to. Those caves give me the crawlies. Too close, too stuffy. I like to see the night.”
“The stars? You cannot see the night.”
“I can.” There was a pause, and he chuckled. Her presence was gentle, lulling, and something began to relax within him that had been tight too long. They shared the moonrise, the trine brethren of Eros, Philios and Agape rising above the dark, glittering expanse of the Sonoma range. A good healer, this woman-child. No one had to tell Lyte how ill he had been; he still tired suddenly, needing long periods of sleep. But his humor was rising once again, in the face of a strange phenomenon—a growing friendship with Shinar. They rarely played word games anymore. She had sat through too many painful nights with him for that barrier to remain. And the knowledge of that friendship disturbed Lyte. He had never had a woman as a friend; not without other considerations. And Shinar was Kalith of Atare’s woman, whether they denied each other or no.
“Did you come to give me a work release?” Lyte asked without looking at her.
“No. I told you why I came.”
“Then good night. I’m in a mean mood.”
“I have been warned?”
“You have been warned,” he continued soberly, shoving the new quilt under his back and shoulders. He was wearing the light, loose pants and long-sleeved shirt of a native, covered carelessly by a wool blanket. Fortunately the rocks slowed the wind. It was amazingly warm in his little shelter, and he had no intention of leaving it for a dark, cramped cave.
“How are the bones?” Shinar started.
Bones? The ones they had fused ... the ribs and shoulder? “No pain. I haven’t tried any work yet, so I don’t know what they can withstand. But if you’d arrange a work release ...”
“Ha,” Shinar answered, leaning over to rap professionally on his ribs for laser misses. “Soon.”
As she leaned toward him a tiny shred of wind brought her fragrance to him—an odor of lemon, and of honey. Brisk, like a slap in the face, with the elusive, naturally feminine scent beneath it all. He reacted without thinking, whipping a strong arm across her back and lightly, teasingly, kissing her. She stiffened, and Lyte sensed her surprise and worry. Damn, I am not an invalid! But her response was too swift, not guarded, unexpected by Shinar herself? It had never occurred to him to tease a friend, and yet, now he could force thought, and the only coherent one was that she was warmer than he’d expected, softer. Even as thought came he was gathering her in his arms, seeking her lips.
Lyte had always attempted to be a master in every skill he possessed, though he had long ago outgrown his purely mechanical interest in sex. There was no pleasure for him unless the woman was pleased, and so he had learned to please his women. And Shinar was no passive observer, despite her worried detachment. Her natural response was so achingly sweet that by the time Lyte could drag himself to cold-sober awareness, he was on his side and covering her throat with kisses.
He paused, and then icily, cautiously, drew away from her, shaken. “I’m sorry.”
“I am not.”
“I’ve never done that before, seriously. I don’t know what—” He faded off as her words sunk in.
In the growing moonlight he saw her roll over on her right side, touching his shoulder carefully. “Are you nodding off?”
He felt himself ruffle. “No. It’s not that again,” he replied sharply, using the same emphasis he always did for his recurring exhaustion.
“Then ... what?”
He stared at her, torn between rage and desire. “I do not molest children,” he said stiffly, and flopped on his back.
“Come now, you are not still making that mistake?” she asked softly.
Lyte regarded her without comment. He had seen others’ appreciative looks and had been inexplicably irritated by them. They weren’t good enough for her. But he wasn’t sure he was, either. Damn these Nualans and their crazy lives! But they were happy—only outside interference, such as between Kal and Shinar, caused trouble. “I do not resort to ... rape ... to satisfy my needs. I’ve never had to, and I refuse to believe I’m desperate enough to accost a friend.”
“Rape is an act of violence, not of passion. Ask any human who has been attacked. How about mutual comfort instead?” There was a smile in her voice, but it was sad and a bit cynical, as if hiding the tears he had seen so many times in the last few days. He rolled back onto his side, propping up his head with his elbow, but he refused to lift his face to her.
“Look at me,” she said seriously.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you so badly, I’m shaking.”
Shinar said nothing. She appeared to pause, as if weighing the alternatives, and then she carefully reached over with her free hand and loosened the tie holding his wrap shirt closed, skillfully brushing the stomach muscles.
Lyte kept his voice very controlled. “Shinar, I’ve never allowed myself to get this tight around a woman unless I’ve been involved with her awhile. My—I can be very—We should wai—”
“I have also been called a demon.” She pushed the shirt back, running her fingers through the hairs on his chest.
Lyte moved away from her, shaking out the huge down quilt and spreading it on the ground over his sleeping area. Shinar watched him go through his nightly routine, right down to stripping off the rest of his shirt. Then he dropped back to the blanket and met her gaze, actually more relaxed than before.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
“Do you want me to?” she countered gently, her gaze not leaving his face.
Don’t ask me that. Holy gods, his blood was starting to boil. Tempted by a child—no, not a child. Never make that mistake. Younger than you’ve fallen for but not a child. But what about Kal? Damn that Atare! Why didn’t he tend to his own woman, so she would not—Lyte remembered his conversation with Roe. Was he being used? He studied the young woman’s eyes. No.... He did not understand what was happening, but he was not being used. Maybe she needed someone as much as he did. Lyte did not answer at first; he merely quietly surveyed the lovely way her soft native shirt and pants clung to her body, and then reached over to absently release the tie holding her top secure. It was hard to remain nonchalant at that sight, but somehow Lyte did. Shinar was impassive, waiting. Lyte felt the expectancy, the question in her mind as well.
Something was crawling around in the back of his mind, and he was ashamed to acknowledge it. “I’ve never shared love with a woman whom I knew was thinking about someone else,” he suddenly blurted out. He kept his tone conversational, but he turned his face away from the light of the rising trine, aware that she could see as well as he.
“I doubt you ever will,” Shinar answered.
Something in Lyte unwound, a wary tenseness he had not recognized. The Nualans were truthful; they did not lie. Is that how Arrez did it? Could he turn his mind on and off among four women? Lyte stopped thinking, stopped worrying, shaking his head ever so slightly. Then he slipped an arm around her ribs and drew her soft flesh to his.
So long ... not really, but it seemed as if— Gods. He was lost in the moment, the pleasure, wasting no thought on the morrow. Whatever hesitation Shinar had over his physical strength quickly dissolved in his own attempts to increase their pleasure. They were so absorbed in one another that her soft laughter startled him.
She grabbed for her shirt and flicked it across his back. “How did we get out of these?” she gasped, the laughter shuddering through her.
Lyte chuckled and redoubled the flow of kisses and caresses across her full breasts. “Woman, some men are leg men, some neck men. I prefer breasts and had to reach them. Now please, continue whatever you were doing to my back.” Still laughing, Shinar complied, her nails once again tracing an intricate pattern down his spine.
And they continued, until the heat was so overpowering they could only tighten their grip upon one another and seek eac
h other’s mouths. Lyte had not expected them to come so close to reaching a peak together—not the first time. Nor had he expected the exhaustion to come afterward in such a rush. His whole body went limp so suddenly, his limbs so heavy, he thought he was blacking out. But no, it passed, and he slowly rolled over on one side to keep from crushing her, his arms reaching out in a warm and protective circle she snuggled into without hesitation.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, and he could feel her guilt. He stirred slightly, his grip tightening, making no attempt to break their contact.
“I hope you’re joking,” he answered sleepily. “I may never let you go.”
oOo
Lyte awoke in a daze, not sure if it was still night or morning. The added warmth so close to him was not startling; the thick, honey hair was. He looked down at the young woman sprawled across his chest and gently raised a hand to smooth her hair. He was having trouble controlling and directing his thoughts, especially about Shinar, and hoped that his restlessness would not wake her.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said aloud, and quickly glanced to see if she was disturbed. What was he going to do about this? He was not a one-woman man—never had been. But there was something special about her, something he couldn’t quite place.
She loved Kalith. Yet she had been with him last night, no other. How could you love two people at once? Lyte had never believed it possible. Was it because they both needed someone who cared, and this was just the way it had worked out? Kal had seemed so preoccupied lately.
“Blasted Atare, if I were him, I’d kill me,” he muttered. Good luck if you try, fool. You drove her to me ... keeping her at arm’s length, never allowing her to share your hopes and fears. “I’m no good for you, but I’m not sure he is, either.” Why did Kal have to take the Atare duties, the traditions, so seriously?
Lyte gently drew away from her, pulling the blanket around her in a comfortable manner. Wait until morning, let it ride, see how she behaves. A stranger or lover? How could hands of healing and loving blend so perfectly; no pity on her part, no gratitude on his. Lords, she was beautiful!
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